Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family 2)

She tried telling herself he was drunk, and clearly not thinking straight, but in her experience, the truth usually came out when a man was drunk and he had no filter.

The words just came.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, fisting her hands.

“You. You’ve gotten into me.”

Wyatt flinched and started walking, dragging Eric along. “Come on. Stop talking before you say something you’ll regret. Let’s go.”

She blinked, stepping out of their way. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, baby,” said Eric.

Her jaw dropped.

“Baby?”

“Yeah. Baby.” He stared at her mutinously as they passed. “I—”

“Enough, Eric.” Wyatt offered her a tight, apologetic smile. “He’s really drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying. You should go home. I’ve got him.”

She started to nod, still hurt, but knowing he was right. “I’ll check on him—”

“Don’t. Don’t check on me.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“Like I said,” she finished, spitting out every word. “I’ll check on him in the morning.”

“Give him time to sober up first,” Wyatt advised.

“Stop talking like I’m not here. I know what the fuck I’m saying.” He locked eyes with Shelby. “I stayed away until you were supposed to be asleep for a reason. Go to bed and leave me the hell alone, okay?”

Shelby flinched.

Wyatt dragged him forward. “Shut up, Eric.”

“I—” Eric cut off when Wyatt elbowed him hard and whispered something in his ear. He frowned, but didn’t finish the thought. “Third door on the left.”

“All right. Let’s get you in bed,” Wyatt said, grunting as he supported his brother down the hallway. As they passed Shelby, Wyatt glanced her way. “I’ll take care of him, okay?”

Shelby nodded once, confused about why Eric was pushing her away and not liking the way it made her feel at all. She was…she felt…empty.

As his brother unlocked his door, Eric leaned on the wall, staring at her. When their gazes collided, he fisted his hands and stared back, looking at her like she was a complete stranger.

What had she done to make him so angry?

Last they’d spoken, they’d been naked in bed. He’d just given her three orgasms, and the world had held a rosy hue. As she rolled toward him, he’d smiled, pushed her hair out of her face, and kissed her gently. “I have to go to work,” he’d said with regret.

She had an appointment with a mover scheduled anyway, so she’d simply nodded. “Will you come by after?”

“Nothing could keep me away,” he whispered, kissing her again. As he pulled back, he’d whispered, “See you around eight?”

They’d kissed, and he reluctantly got out of bed, naked. As he made his way toward his clothes, he’d asked, “Did you hear anything about any jobs yet?”

Just like that, she’d frozen. She should have told him the truth, should have told him she got an offer, but instead, she’d said, “Nope. Not yet.”

Smiling, he’d threaded his hand in her hair, leaned down, and whispered, “You’ll get an offer soon. I’m sure of it.”